


Redamancy

by xylodemon



Series: deancas codas: season ten [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Tag, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-27
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-27 04:59:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2680028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xylodemon/pseuds/xylodemon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(n.) the act of loving the one who loves you; a love returned in full.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Redamancy

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for 10x07; vague spoilers for the 10x09/10x10 synopses.

"The people who love me -- they pulled me back from that edge."

 

+

 

"So," Sam says, three hours and two hundred miles later, and -- yeah. Dean already doesn't like his tone. It's the one he uses to start off the kinds of conversations Dean would chew off his own foot to avoid.

"What?"

Sam hesitates for a second, like he's choosing his words. Then: "What you said back there, about -- "

"I already told you," Dean says, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. "I was just telling him what he needed to hear, so he'd -- you know."

"So he wouldn't shoot you?"

"So he'd go home to his family." Cole had been angry, but underneath that he'd been hurt, was still just a twelve year-old kid who'd seen something horrible and wanted to know why -- why _him_. Dean doesn't blame him for that. He can fucking relate. "He didn't need my death hanging over his head."

"Right," Sam says, and -- Christ. There's that tone again. If they were farther from civilization, Dean would pull over and walk out into the woods to take a piss and not come back for two hours. "But I was talking about the other thing you said."

"What other thing?"

"That you were saved by the people who love you."

Dean works his jaw from side to side, wincing as it pops slightly, as his bruised skin aches in complaint. "No big mystery there, Sammy. If it wasn't for you, I'd still be -- you know. A demon." He can still taste it sometimes, sulfur and ash on the back of his tongue, gritty when he tries to swallow, when he tries to breathe. "I -- um. I almost killed you, and you still fixed me up."

"Cas and I fixed you up."

Dean sits up a little, holding the steering wheel so tightly the Impala ticks to the left. He doesn't remember too much of his demon vacation, and -- except for the pain of it, and the anger, and the constant, raw-meat tang of blood behind his teeth -- he doesn't remember too much of the curing process either, up until he'd been more or less "human" enough to worm his way out of the magic cuffs. Even that is still somewhat fuzzy, but he remembers Cas grabbing him, and he remembers the icy-hot burst of grace that followed, coursing through him like a live current, freezing him in place until Sam could jab the next needle into his neck.

He'd slumped over as the blood kicked in, losing consciousness and hanging limp in Cas' arms; right before the lights went out, Cas had breathed out a relieved sigh right against his jaw, and -- 

"Yeah, you and Cas."

"Is that what you meant?" Sam asks, with a sideways glance Dean can practically feel. "When you said _people_ who -- "

"Drop it, Sam."

"Because he -- "

"I swear to god," Dean barks, jerking the wheel again, embarrassment burning in his cheeks and jaw, "I will pull this car over and kick your ass."

 

+

 

Dean makes it another hour before he starts to feel tired; another hour after that, the road signs begin to blur and the lane lines begin to move around. Sam is already asleep by then, snoring softly with his head tipped against the windows and his knees bumping the dash at awkward angles. They're still pretty far off the beaten path, so Dean just pulls off onto the soft shoulder, hiding the Impala under the low sweep of a tree. Crashing in the car means risking a vagrancy ticket, but they're on a dinky county highway, and it's drizzling a little; it's the kind of night state troopers usually spend catching up on their paperwork at Biggerson's.

He grabs a couple of blankets out of the trunk, tossing one at Sam as he crawls into the backseat, then shifts around for five minutes, trying to make himself comfortable. He usually bunks in the front when they sleep in the car, so he can't quite settle without the steering wheel jammed against the back of his thigh. He briefly considers trying to make Sam move, but decides it isn't worth the trouble; if they're in danger, Sam can be awake and armed in a few seconds, but when it's just Dean he snuffles and rolls right back over, probably because Dean got him up for school every day when they were kids. 

 

+

 

Cas had breathed out a relieved sigh right against his jaw, had murmured _Dean_ and _please, you must fight it_ and _I don't want to lose you_ , his mouth just brushing against Dean's skin.

 

+

 

Dean's ringtone is Iron Maiden this week, the intro to _Hallowed Be Thy Name_ ; for three or four seconds he dreams about the concert he caught during his Cicero sabbatical, general admission at the Klipsch Music Center in Noblesville, but then a giant, sasquatch hand grabs his shoulder and shakes him into reality.

"Dude, answer your phone," Sam says, all bedhead and a dry, clacking voice. He has pink seat-creases across his left cheek.

Dean stabs the button with his thumb, grumbling, "Yeah," before the phone is really at his ear.

"Hello, Dean."

"Oh, um -- hey, Cas." Dean sits up and rubs his hand over his face, then climbs out of the car, bumping the door closed with his hip. "What's going on, buddy?"

Cas doesn't say anything for nearly a minute. Then: "Dean, where are you?"

"Kansas, just north of Geary," Dean says, wincing as he rolls his shoulders. He's getting too old to sleep in the car without paying for it in the morning, would probably still ache all over even if he hadn't fought with Cole. "We're on our way back to the bunker. What about you?"

"Rochester, Minnesota."

"Is everything okay?"

Cas hesitates again. Dean hears gas station noise in the silence -- car engines and driveway bells and tinny, overhead music -- then Cas sighs and says, "I don't know. The angel I was working with, Hannah, she -- "

"Hannah?" Dean asks sharply, something awful twisting in his gut, half anger and half jealousy and ugly all the way through. _There's a female outside in the car._ "Like, _Hannah_? The angel who wanted you to stab me?"

"That Hannah, yes," Cas admits, sounding tired and unhappy. "I'm sorry. I doubt you -- "

"Is it a good one?"

"Is it -- what?"

"The reason you're working with her." Dean ducks under a tree branch, moving away from the car and the clatter of Sam digging clean clothes out of the trunk. "Is it a good one?"

"It was, yes."

Dean makes himself take a breath. "Then tell me about it later. What's going on right now? Are you -- is something wrong?"

"She left. She returned to heaven, and now I -- I."

Cas doesn't finish that sentence, but Dean doesn't need him to. He knows how it goes. _Now I'm alone._

"Just stay where you are," Dean says, heading back to the car. "Get some breakfast, and grab a motel, and -- Sam and I will be up there in eight or nine hours."

"Dean, I -- there's something I have to do. I'm going to Pontiac, Illinois."

 

+

 

"So, Cas," Sam says, just outside Topeka, aiming for casual and missing by at least a mile. 

"Yeah." Dean stares straight ahead and taps his thumb on the steering wheel. They're on US 24, which is more city traffic than he ever wants to deal with. "Cas."

He waits for Sam to continue, but Sam just reaches over the seat to grab a soda from the cooler, then goes back to the book he'd been reading like he never said a word.

 

+

 

They meet at a Denny's in Des Moines; it's as close to a midway point as they could get without forcing Cas into a long detour.

"So, why did she leave?" Dean asks. They're in the parking lot, standing face to face in the narrow space between their cars; Cas is almost close enough to touch, but Dean doesn't -- he isn't sure. "Did you guys fight or something?"

"No," Cas says, shaking his head. "Her vessel, Caroline -- she is married, and her husband -- he had been looking for her for a year. Hannah regretted taking Caroline from her family. She left so Caroline could return home."

Dean doesn't know what to say. That doesn't sound like the dick angels he knows and hates, but everything about heaven has been screwy since Metatron tossed everyone out on their asses. "Why are you going to Pontiac? That's where I was -- where I -- um. You know."

"Yes, I know," Cas says. The wind ruffles his hair, and he runs his hand through it, making it stand up in every direction, just like the good old days. "Jimmy Novak lived in Pontiac."

"Jimmy?" Dean asks, a sour taste spreading at the back of his mouth. He's not sure he likes where this is going. "Jimmy? Like, your -- um." He waves his hand, unable to say _vessel_ ; after six years, all he sees there is _Cas_. "I thought he -- I didn't know he was still around."

"He isn't." Cas pauses for a few seconds, his mouth tight, then says, "Jimmy had a daughter named Claire."

"The little blonde girl, yeah."

"She is still in Pontiac. She lives in some sort of communal home for orphaned children."

"Cas," Dean says, his voice sticking in his throat. "Are you -- what are you up to?"

"I am healthy again, but this grace" -- he frowns, touching his chest -- "it will eventually begin to rot."

"Just like before."

"Yes."

"Can't you -- um." Dean pauses, has to clear his throat twice before he can get the words out. "What if you went back to heaven?"

"I can't."

"What do you mean?" Dean snaps, anger itching under his skin, digging into the pit of his gut. "After everything you've done for those dicks, they won't -- "

"Dean," Cas says, moving closer. He rests his hand where Dean's neck curves into his shoulder, squeezing a little, and Dean can't help glancing at the restaurant; their booth is by the window, and Sam might -- he just might. "It's not that I'm unwelcome. Returning to heaven wouldn't do any good."

"They can't -- um." Dean reaches for Cas' chest, for the same place Cas had touched, but stops short, unsure of what to do, what words to use. "They can't fix you?"

"No. Stealing another angel's grace is against more of god's laws than you can possibly imagine. Even if they knew how to... fix me, they don't have the power."

Dean curls his hand in the front of Cas' coat. "So you're just gonna -- you're gonna make me watch you die?"

"Maybe not," Cas says quietly. "Claire Novak -- I used her as a vessel briefly, the night those demons tried to kidnap Jimmy."

"Yeah." It had been weird, watching a little girl wield all that power and holy light. "I remember."

The wind picks up; Cas watches an empty styrofoam cup roll under the Continental, then says, "Claire should still carry a small portion of my grace. If she -- "

"Cas, that was years ago, and you were only in her for a couple minutes. There can't be much left."

"I don't need much. Even a tiny amount will cauterize the damage."

Dean doesn't like the sound of that. "Cauterize? Will is-- will you still be an angel?"

"Probably not much of one," Cas says, his mouth twisting sadly, "but you won't have to watch me die."

 

+

 

Cas calls the next night, just an hour after Dean gets back to the bunker, saying, "Hello, Dean," in a voice that's low and gravelly and tired. 

"Hey, Cas," Dean says, ignoring the look Sam shoots him as he escapes into the kitchen. "Did you make it to Pontiac yet?"

"I'm there now." Cas is quiet for a moment, then says, "I'm standing over your grave."

Dean shivers. "Why are -- why would you -- "

"Bringing you back is the only thing I've ever done right."

"Cas." Dean closes his eyes for a second, flattening his hand against the counter so he doesn't punch the wall. "Don't say that kind of shit. You know it isn't true."

"Your faith in me has always exceeded my reach."

"Jesus Christ," Dean mutters, scrubbing his hand through his hair. "You should -- why don't you just come down here. If you leave now, you can get here by breakfast."

Cas sighs, the sound rattling in Dean's ear like the wind. "Tomorrow, Dean. After I speak with Claire."

 

+

 

"So," Sam says, fiddling with his beer. "If this thing with Novak's kid works, what's he going to do? After, I mean."

"He said he was coming back here."

"For good?"

"Yeah, he -- yeah."

The corpse of a pizza is sitting on the table between them; Sam peels a pepperoni off the last slice and pops it into his mouth. "Okay," he says, chewing. "Does that mean you two are going to" -- he waves his hand a little -- "you know."

"Maybe." Dean rubs the back of his neck, frowning at the pizza so he doesn't have to look Sam in the eye. He's never been able to talk about the ones that matter. "I think so. I mean, if he -- "

"He does," Sam says. He snags a pizza crust and taps it against the edge of his plate like a drumstick, then drops it back in the box, spilling crumbs everywhere. "That's good. I'm glad _you_ finally -- "

"Sammy."

"Okay," Sam says, holding up his hands. "Okay."

 

+

 

Pontiac is only six hundred miles from the bunker, but the trip takes Cas five and a half days.

When he finally calls to say he's outside, his voice sounds tired and thin, and when Dean opens the door, he only takes a couple steps inside, hovering uncertainly on the landing. He's wearing a ratty pair of jeans and a t-shirt that's a little too small for him; he's about two days past his last shave, and he -- oh. _Fuck_.

"I guess it didn't work," Dean says quietly.

"It worked, just not the way I anticipated."

"So, you're human now?"

Cas nods. "I am."

"Is that what took you so long? Is that why -- did you have any trouble? You should've called me, I would've -- "

"I needed some time to get used to the idea," Cas says. His hair is a mess, and the shadows under his eyes are the color of an old bruise. "And I -- I did have a little trouble. I stopped in Hannibal for a motel, but my credit card wasn't -- it had been flagged stolen."

"Christ. What did you do?"

"I left before they could call the police, and I hid out at the bus station for the rest of the day. After dark, I went back and got my car. I was tired, so about halfway to St. Joseph I pulled over to sleep."

"In the car?" Dean asks sharply.

"You and Sam do it all the time."

Dean doesn't know what to say to that, except, "Come inside, will you?" Cas lost his mojo and nearly got arrested and slept on the side of the road; Dean should probably -- he doesn't know. "Are you hungry? I made enchiladas for dinner, and I think Sam actually left two or three, so -- "

"I'm fine," Cas says. "I stopped for a cheeseburger in Mankato. I'd forgotten how much I like cheeseburgers."

"Of course you like cheeseburgers. Cheeseburgers are" -- Dean cuts off, a knot burning in the back of his throat. He loves Cas so much he thinks he might die. "Will you stay?"

"Dean -- "

"I want you to stay," Dean says, and -- Christ. His gut feels like it's trying to tear itself in half. "I -- um."

"Yes," Cas says, smiling a little. "If you -- yes."

"I cleaned out the room across the hall from mine, unless you -- unless."

Cas slides his hand over Dean's jaw, rubs his thumb at the corner of Dean's mouth. "Unless?"

"Yeah, unless," Dean says, and kisses him soft and easy and slow.

 

+

 

That night, Dean falls asleep with Cas snoring into the back of his neck. He hogs the blankets and he keeps worming his cold feet between Dean's, and Dean wouldn't change a thing, not a single one.


End file.
